The Long Coming Home
by Glideer
Summary: AU future Japan with a broken Hachiman still trying to help the only way he knows how.
1. Chapter 1

The jeep takes a turn, the headlights play across a road sign and, just like that, I am in Chiba again.

I can't say I missed the place. It has been more than five years since I last thought of returning. They say home is a place you can always go back to. The place is still here but the only thing this Hikigaya Hachiman has in common with the kid who left all those years ago is the name. There can be no going back.

I turn slowly in my seat, shrugging off the heavy combat smock. Makino's eyes remain glued to the road, his posture still erect after three hours of driving. Somehow he manages to convey the impression of a nod without moving his head a fraction.

"Sir."

"Makino."

Strange how conventions and customs that have lost all meaning still manage to anchor us to reality. When everything else is gone we fall back to our postures and our regular shaves and our pretence of formalities. Like true formality is ever possible with somebody who once carried your mangled body through fountaining earth, fire and ear-shattering noise. But it is what remains when truly reaching out to someone becomes impossible.

Driving down empty, dark streets, not a light in sight, the blackout and curfew in effect. Burnt skeletons of buildings from last year's riots still mar the skyline. We pass three roadblocks, but every time soldiers wave our little convoy through without checking. I don't like it. Carelessness gets you killed, even in Chiba. Even when you are home.

We stop in front of the Chiba city office, a monstrosity of a building I would have been happy never to see again. I step out to watch our three trucks stop behind us as soldiers jump out smartly. Not many left now, but I keep dragging those tired veterans with me. They are the only family I have left these days. My actions keep getting my family killed, but what else is new?

My footsteps echo across the pavement, under a limp Rising Sun Flag, to a small gaggle of officers waiting in front. A brief exchange of salutes and the previous military governor of Chiba departs, wishing me success. It would take an effort to do worse.

* * *

 _"We need you there, Hachiman," the general says, his video stuttering badly, as so often happens these days, even on military channels._

 _"I go where I am needed, Kanji"._

 _"I am sorry it had to be Chiba. But there is nobody else I trust." Kanji is a graduate of the same hard school of trusting nobody you haven't bled with._

 _"I go where I am needed, sir"._

 _"There is trouble in Chiba. Resistance is still active and that fool of a governor can't suppress them completely."_

 _Resistance? Somebody still takes those clowns seriously?_

 _"But they are not the main problem," his eyes focus on me and some of the tiredness goes away. "There is this woman, a human rights activist, and she causes us no end of trouble. She has the ear of the European ambassador and she keeps filling it with stories about mass arrests and executions. All true, of course," and he smiles joylessly, "but it is something we can ill afford. One would think that the Europeans have their own problems to worry about but they keep complaining and protesting. There is even talk of sanctions."_

 _"Won't happen. They need us."_

 _"We need them more. We can't afford the risk. There will be starvation this winter, again, even as it is." He trails off, a vacant look on his face. So much has been sacrificed and we still can't feed our people._

 _"So, why haven't you disappeared her already?" He really doesn't need me to tell him that._

 _He looks away and I know something is wrong. Kanji doesn't look away no matter how bad the news is. "Well, her name is Yukino Hayama and somebody… her name was removed from last year's execution lists. Nobody dared put it back."_

 _For heaven's sake, Kanji! Is my trainwreck of a personal life a stuff of gossip in military cafeterias?_

 _"I am not questioning your judgement, Hachiman," he says, his eyes hard and kind and not tired at all. "Do what you see fit. But deal with her."_

* * *

I sit behind the governor's enormous desk, going through files on my tablet, a half-eaten can of mystery meat contributing its rich aroma to the atmosphere. I hate the opulent office but I don't have the energy to look for another tonight. I know better than to offer Makino to sit.

"So, we have thirty-six Resistance sympathisers in custody?"

"Yes."

"Prepare orders for their execution and bring them to me for signing. Tomorrow morning, somewhere public. Maximum visibility."

I go back to one of the files again. Distribution of subversive leaflets. Resisting arrest, a soldier wounded. A search of the apartment discovered five kilos of homemade explosive. Name - Yui Yuigahama. I am not surprised in the slightest.

And Yui's homemade explosive. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It must have been burnt to a crisp.

I still play with my dinner when Makino closes the door behind a girl, no, a woman, in a dress that once must have been brightly coloured. The scraggly, unkempt hair covers half of her face, but I can still see a broken nose and a big, black bruise spreading across her cheeks. It obviously wasn't a gentle arrest. But it is her, all right.

"Yui."

Her head snaps up, she seems frozen for a moment, then a series of emotions flow across her face far too quickly to follow, like one of those time-lapse videos… day, night, day, night again.

"Hikigaya." Now that hurt.

"Please sit, Yuigahama-san." Her face contorts briefly, whether in disgust or in pain I can't tell. But she drops into the big armchair bonelessly, like it was taking all her strength and will to remain standing.

"It has been a long time." My small talk skills are beyond rusty. But I've learned to kill people in the meantime so all those years haven't been a total waste.

"Not long enough," Yui says, staring above my head.

This is going nowhere. Our goodbye was laced with fragile smiles, unshed tears and unspoken recrimination. I was trying not to hurt her with my happiness and she was trying not to notice. We both failed. She never called since. Apparently, my career of a uniformed murderer did nothing to improve her disposition.

"Have you been in touch with Yukinoshita?" Why am I doing this to us both?

Her empty gaze suddenly bores into me and I recoil from the sudden fire in it.

"The _bitch_! The two-timing _whore_!" she spits. I'll take that as a no.

"The rich, pampered brat, who always got everything she wanted!" Now, now, Yui, that is not entirely fair. Yukino tragically lost her husband, a man missed dearly by all those who knew him.

"An armchair revolutionary in her suburban villa, while my friends get shot by a truckload!" And far more trouble to us than you ever were.

"Never appreciated anything she had 'cause it was served to her on a silver platter…" Yui's anger is nearly spent. She is a shadow of her old self. Years of bad food followed by months in jail will do that to a woman.

"Go home, Yui."

"What?!"

"Just go home. Stop this nonsense. You are helping nobody and you are the only one that will end up hurt." I swallow. "That will end up dead."

"No! This is my country, too! I will rather die than let you jackbooted Nazis stomp all over us!" There is some fire in her still.

"Are you completely delusional? Have you taken a look around these last few years? You are not fighting for some oppressed masses yearning to be free!" Now my voice is getting shrill. "The world is a broken place! This country is hanging on by its fingernails! We are forcing even kids to work, redistributing every grain of rice and still there is not enough to go around."

"And you shoot everybody who opposes you." She whispers.

"And we shoot everybody who opposes us," I say. "Whatever is necessary to survive." The words are righteous but they taste bitter.

"You achieve nothing, Yui. There are no more media and journalists to report about your heroics. Nobody ever hears of your petty ambushes and attacks. If one of your bombs goes off and nobody hears it, does it really make a sound?" Why am I so desperate to convince this girl from the past long forgotten? I am way past forgiveness.

"Never." She might be a shadow of the old Yui, but all of the stubbornness is still there. It is time for stronger measures.

"All right." I stand up, my face a frozen mask. "I have on my desk execution orders for thirty-five of your friends. I intend to sign them and they will be shot in the morning."

A visible shiver runs through Yui. She looks at me like she really sees me for the first time. But there is no stopping now.

I unholster my gun and chamber a bullet.

"So if you really want to start killing jackbooted thugs who have taken over your country then you should start big. With the butcher of Yokohama, with the infamous Hikigaya whose men stormed the Diet." I slide the gun across the desk to her.

"And save your thirty-five friends in the process." I sit down and look at the opened can of meat. Suddenly I am hungry.

She slowly takes the gun and checks whether it is loaded. I notice with wry amusement that her distrust hurts me. After all, I never lied to her.

Yui stands up, slowly and deliberately. Her arm rises and I find myself looking into the barrel of my own gun. It is not a pleasant feeling. Her hand is not shaking. My life is about to end in this tasteless office. But I can't find it in me to care.

"I hate you, Colonel Hikigaya."

There is no give in her voice. None at all. I close my eyes.

A single shot, impossibly loud. I never thought my little Yui had it in her. Seconds of waiting for that exquisite pain pass before I raise my eyes to her again. A smoking gun still pointed at me, her nose still broken, her face covered in bruises, yet all transformed by that old Yui smile.

"I love you, Hachiman. Never thought I'd have another chance to tell you that."

By the time I start moving it is far too late, and I know it. My shout is just a matter of form, lost in the chaos of the door flying off its hinges and Makino moving in, firing off three quick shots with a smooth economy of movement you have to admire. Her eyes were already glazing over when I reached her. The face still warm to the touch, though.

"Good shooting, Makino."

I stand up and turn to leave, straightening my uniform. Whatever he sees in my face makes his eyes flicker away for a moment.

"Sir."


	2. Chapter 2

I am having a peaceful drive on a sunny morning in Chiba, after last night's tearful reunion with my old friend from high school. Life doesn't get better than this. True, I ended up killing my old friend and I am on my way to kill more people, but we can't get hung up on the details. It's all for the greater good. If I say it enough times I might even believe it.

Once again, one last time, I lost to Yui. Even back in school, whenever I cornered her with my clever mind tricks, she'd just turn the tables on me with a steady gaze and her heart on her sleeve. I was an arrogant fool to think that it would be different this time. I tried to save her and got her killed in the process, but my intentions were good. That counts for something, right? I am sure it makes a tremendous difference to the only girl who never had anything but a smile and a kind word for me, who never said anything but 'good luck' when I started dating her best friend. Who never told me that she loved me. Well, she did, in the end, just before I got her killed.

I am going in circles. Yui is dead and there is no bringing her back. Dead like so many other people I cared about. One would think it would get easier with practice. Yet I can hardly breathe.

I step out of the car into the cold Chiba morning, my uniform all starched and proper. Wouldn't do to be anything less than immaculate for this little pièce de résistance. Hilarious, Orimoto would say.

A deep and long ditch lined by freshly turned earth looks like a gaping wound cut in the lawn of Chiba Park. Handcuffed people are tumbling out of parked trucks onto the frozen ground, then being yanked upright by soldiers and marched off to the ditch. Some are crying, some silent, all beaten and dirty.

Opposite the ditch, a long line of people waits for rice in front of the county government office. They barely look any better than the prisoners and very few are even bothering to look at the spectacle. Hunger is the best vaccine for empathy.

Nobody would look at me twice in this breadline. I always hoped that my eyes would change later in life, that I would fit in with others. And I got my wish, just not the way I hoped. Streets are full of people with dead eyes these days. Mine are livelier than most.

I nod to Makito, an order is barked and soldiers start setting up machine guns. The prisoners stiffen visibly and I see a woman of uncommon beauty step out of the group, her bearing proud despite bruises and dirt. She yells something at soldiers but they ignore her, going about their business. It might be the last few minutes of your life for you but it's just business for them. There is a breakfast waiting back at the barracks so could you do them a favour and just die quietly? But the woman apparently lacks the social grace to do so and steps closer, yelling what I assume are curses or insults or some quixotic slogans. Power to the people, death to tyrants, god is great, you'll pay for this. I've heard it all. She finally steps too close and one of the soldiers turns and casually strikes her across the face with the barrel of his rifle. She goes down in a heap and doesn't get up.

The people in the breadline start turning to watch. There is little free entertainment to be had at this time of rolling blackouts and state-approved TV. The prisoners look shocked and a few run to the fallen woman to help her back into the group. Despite everything that has happened, despite what is about to happen now, Japanese still recoil at public displays of violence.

There is a long moment of silence with all preparations done, everybody frozen in place, hesitating before taking the final plunge. Then, predictably, one of the prisoners starts to sing. A few others join in and the tune grows stronger. The little tableau is all set, the doomed heroes bloodied but defiant, the crowd sullen but touched. All that is missing is the villain. I shouldn't keep them waiting.

I take one last deep breath and stride purposefully towards the waiting group. Passing between salutes, my face a stern but kind mask of a disappointed parent forced to discipline a wayward child.

Yui. Your taste in men is beyond horrible.

* * *

 _18 months earlier_

I feel more than slightly ridiculous, limping into a cinema in a t-shirt and a bermuda shorts, scars livid on my legs. It's been years since I wore anything but a uniform. Fortunately, there is almost nobody to see me, all the films are pre-war reruns and the ticket is a luxury most people can't afford anyway. I refuse the pretty attendant's offer to help "a disabled veteran" and walk into an auditorium. Just one seat is taken and I shuffle painfully to sit by the man. As far as I can see in the flickering light, General Takahashi Kanji of the Imperial General Staff is wearing a nylon shirt with a floral pattern and I can't suppress a snigger.

He looks at me with annoyance but there is a good reason for this masquerade. The government is paranoid and a secret meeting between senior army officers could easily be misunderstood. And by 'misunderstood' I mean the two us ending up on the wrong side of a firing squad if somebody hears what we are talking about.

"We can't do it without you, Hachiman. Many of the key commanders refuse to join us as long as you keep your distance and you have the only troops that wouldn't hesitate to do anything you order them to."

"We've talked about this, Kanji. They might be idiots but they are a democratically elected government. We are talking treason here." Coup d'etats tend to be dangerous to both your health and reputation. I still care about the latter.

"You've been overseas too long. You don't understand how crazy they are. We are losing half of the harvest to cold, fallout and lack of fertilisers and they talk about a new investment cycle!" I've never seen Kanji so desperately in earnest. "But you won't believe it until you see it. So we have selected you as the army representative for tomorrow's government reception. Go there and listen and observe. Make up your own mind. Call me on a secure channel once it is over."

I move to stand up but his hand grips mine. "We have to do this, Hachiman. Whatever the cost to us personally. Millions of lives are at stake. The personal doesn't matter anymore."

Tokyo is shrouded in darkness as we drive to the Akasaka Palace. There are occasional flickers of lights in windows and shabby-looking people gape at our government limo in wonder. I cringe, turn my face away and am relieved to see that Makito looks uncomfortable, too. The neighbourhood changes as we approach the palace and, by the time we arrive, I feel positively shabby. The building glows with light, black limousines everywhere, evening gowns glitter and there are enough jewels in sight to feed an African nation. We climb a wide staircase, a gap opening in the crowd ahead to let us pass. Our dark dress uniforms are too plain for this company and I suspect our expressions do not match the joyous spirit of the celebration. My limp is not helping, either. Everybody wants to enjoy themselves, not be reminded of what was lost.

We enter the main hall and I stop in wonder. I've never seen anything similar, not even in the old times. I certainly couldn't imagine that such a place of beauty and wonder still existed today. An enormous chandelier glitters in reflected light in the middle of a great hall, which stretches into the distance, supported by ornamental pillars and filigree wall decorations. Is that gold? Ladies in evening gowns look on from the gallery as the orchestra plays and a few couples already dance something elegant and elaborate. Laughter and loud talk of beautifully dressed, good-looking people who enjoy this evening of magic assault my senses. Servers in white jackets are busy with their own intricate dance, balancing trays overflowing with food and drink between chatting groups. I take an uncertain step back and hear Makino's muttered "bloody hell".

We move a bit to the side and as I relax I start noticing that not everybody is enjoying themselves. There's an embarrassed face here and there and a distinctly uncomfortable-looking group of foreign diplomats down the hall. Still, the atmosphere is cheerful, almost hysterically so.

And then a procession of speeches starts, ministers I've never heard of raising glasses to a bright future, faceless officials seeing a new tomorrow for our Asian prosperity sphere, well-fed businessmen promising investments and crystal resolution TVs for everybody. One particularly gormless character raises a toast in our direction, congratulating "our heroes" on "winning the war". I can feel pain shooting up my leg at that piece of drivel and I wish somebody had told the people that shot me up that they've lost the war. I exchange glances with Makito and we start moving through the crowd away from the podium. I think we've heard enough.

We reach the top of the stairway and I notice the two people climbing. The background noise dies away, the time slows down to a crawl and it is like one of those nightmares where a car is hurtling towards you and there is nothing you can do. This is no nightmare, though very soon it will be, and there are still options available. I could just turn and run, or at least hobble away, dignity be damned. But I won't give them the satisfaction.

So I wait for Hayato Hayama, who climbs the last two steps very slowly, looking about as happy to be here as I am. He looks good, athletic and elegant in his expensive dark Savile Row suit, or wherever in the world suits that fit you like that come from.

"Hayama-san." I am unable to force out a single little pleasantry.

"Colonel Hikigaya. I am… surprised to see you here." But he is not looking at me but at his companion, a terrible mix of powerful emotions warring on his face. There is fear, and hate, and love there and I look away. Such moments are too intimate for others to witness.

When I look back Hayato has regained some measure of control and he smiles shakily. "I hope you are well."

"I am. Allow me to introduce Captain Makino Iwasaki." I turn to Makino and see such a loathing on his usually emotionless face that my breath catches. Why is everybody losing it all of a sudden? Perhaps it is a good thing I can't see my own expression. Makino is not looking at Hayato at all but at his companion and I almost make the mistake of following his gaze. But I catch myself at the last moment since I can make a pretty good guess at who that person is.

Long, long ago there was a boy and there was a girl and, like in all such stories, they fell in love. They were happy together but the boy got called to war and was away for years and years. The girl kept writing and the boy kept writing and they kept promising never to let go. But one day somebody shot the boy and his friend carried him through fire and flame to safety. And when the boy wrote to the girl from his sickbed there was no reply. So the boy asked his friend to take his letters to the girl who was somehow not receiving them.

And the friend found her in another man's palace. And the guards wouldn't let him see her and he had to fight them to enter and speak to her.

I never asked Makito what was said. Had it been worth knowing, had knowing it been bearable, he would have told me. It took a General Staff intervention to get him out of police custody. He had put two Hayama household bodyguards in a hospital.

So, I think I know who stands there, by Hayato's side. But as long as I don't look, as long as I don't acknowledge who it is - well, perhaps I can just say a few words and leave and no harm done.

"Nice to meet you, captain," Hayato says and doesn't offer to introduce his companion and I suddenly understand that he is as terrified of what might happen as I am. That we are working together here, just as we used to back in the high school, to get everybody out of this minefield safe and sound. But it has to be done quickly.

"So, how is your family, Hikigaya-san?" He offers the most innocent of questions. There are very few safe questions today.

"My sister is well, volunteering in the Greater Tokyo reclamation project. My father died in the Three Days. My mother last winter." I speak, proud of how composed my voice sounds.

I hear a gasp in my blind spot and a trembling female voice "Hikigaya-san dead? B-But… I saw her last winter!"

I close my eyes for a moment. It was a valiant effort.

There is a beautiful woman standing by Hayama's side. I even know her. Yukino Hayama, formerly Yukino Yukinoshita, a dear friend of mine. A stunning black dress, its style masterly understated, accentuates her perfect figure and the elegance of a fully blossomed beauty. She looks more lovely than ever. The marriage to Hayato obviously suits her.

"You visited my mother, Hayama-san? How nice of you." I think I am smiling.

"I… I wanted to help. I just came to visit. She… she spat me in the face." Mrs Hayama is growing paler by the second. Surely that can't be healthy.

"Oh, my mother spat you in the face so you left her to die alone of cold and hunger? So perfectly you." I am still smiling, but my mouth is starting to hurt. She takes a stumbling step back, her eyes full of some emotion I don't believe her capable of feeling. One more and, with a bit of luck, she will fall down the stairs and break that lovely neck of hers.

"Perhaps you should have been around to help your mother, instead of expecting others to do it," Hayato intercedes angrily.

"I was away fighting _your_ wars. Getting shot for _your_ corporate profits." And you stole everything I had.

"Which reminds me, I need to thank you, Hayama-san." My voice is almost back to normal. "For that evacuation from Shanghai just before the city fell. That was nobly done. Nobly done, indeed. I was wounded and you saved my life and my men, asking for nothing in return."

He looks at me speechless for a second and, to his credit, blushes furiously. Then turns to Yukino with a furious "You told him!".

She is once again her usual icy self. "I haven't said a word… you fool".

Hayato looks back at me, mouth hanging open.

I feel almost insulted. It was quite obvious, really. Me helpless and about to be killed in Shanghai, when a miraculous government order arrives to have me evacuated at the last possible moment. At the same time, my girlfriend stops writing and soon marries another man, whose family incidentally has a lot of pull with the government. Frankly, as a plot, it is pathetically banal.

Their faces, their reactions are proof enough.

I always suspected there was a reason. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions. We had something genuine and she sold it at the highest market price. The fact that the price was my life matters nothing at all.

They deserve each other.

We are done here. I turn to leave.

"You are a relic of the past," Hayato spits. "You have no place in the new Japan. You… heroes, soldiers and samurais are just wholesale murderers." I don't think it is me he is talking to.

I cry on the way back. I am not sure what for.

Kanji is still awake when I return. The channel is heavily encrypted. Heavily enough, I hope.

"You have seen it?" Kanji's face is tired. He carries a heavy burden.

"I have. I am with you." And with these four words, I become a traitor to my country.

His eyes close in relief. "I expected nothing else."

"About the execution lists," I have to ask this. "There are so many names".

"I agree. But you can't use force in moderation. Ministers, tycoons, industrialists, yakuza, they all have to go if this country is to have a chance." Kanji's words are determined but muscles on his face twitch. It is not easy to kill thousands. Not even with your pen.

I know he is right. Still. "I want one name removed." There are things more important than duty or pride.

"Of course," he doesn't hesitate a second.

"Yukino Hayama". A brief pause.

"Done," Kanji says. Then. "Hachiman. Her husband is also listed."

I think for a few seconds. What kind of a man am I?

"Goodbye, Kanji. Thank you."

Oh. That kind.


	3. Chapter 3

I have been staring at this phone for so long that I expect it to break down and confess any moment. Nothing to be gained by postponing, really. I replay the last phone call in my head once again, still painfully clear after two years.

 _"Yes, this is the Yukinoshita residence. Hikigaya-san?" the majordomo's voice, which usually switched to warmer at this point, remained carefully neutral._

 _"No, Yukinoshita-san no longer lives here. Regrettably, she left no forwarding address or phone number, but I am sure she will contact you in due course." The call had ended before I managed to say another word._

Not that bad as conversations go, but it left me shivering in my hospital bed. Feeling a tidal wave of disaster coming my way. Considering everything I had gone through before without a trace of premonition, it was quite a warning. Not that it helped any, just marked the first step of a long descent into some dark places. Will this phone call be the same? No… at least I don't have to worry about that. Having nothing to lose leaves you with very few real worries.

I reach out and type the number. The phone rings and rings. Is she home? Damn, I miss mobile phones.

"Yes." That voice. I used to love it once upon a time.

"Hayama-san?"

A sudden intake of breath, followed by another, weaker "yes?".

"Hachiman Hikigaya speaking. I apologise for the inconvenience, but we have an important matter to discuss. Would it be fine with you if I came to visit tomorrow, say, dinner time?" I would be so proud of myself if not for a crumpled piece of paper in my hand. The lines are so smeared with sweat I can barely read them.

An endless pause. Why does it last so long? I don't need to ask for her permission. I can go there anytime I choose. I can have her brought here. In chains, if need be. Well, perhaps having a girl brought in at gunpoint is not a good conversation opener.

"Of course." The voice is much stronger now. And colder, if that is possible. "I will expect you at seven." A click.

I slowly put down the receiver. That went better than the last time. I wipe my clammy hands on the trousers and try to steady my breathing. This dinner will be so much fun.

* * *

The drive to the Yukinoshita villa lasts longer than I remember. Perhaps it is the absence of other cars and all that empty countryside. I wanted to go on my own, but Makino refused flatly. Just as he refused when I asked to borrow his suit. I am starting to suspect he is not entirely happy with this visit.

After passing down a small lane, we park in front of a tasteful country house. It looks slightly dilapidated and darker than I remember it. Don't we all. Makino opens the boot and takes a compact submachine gun out. His steps crunch-crunch on the gravel path behind me.

"I can handle this." I turn.

" _That woman_ is dangerous." There is nothing but cold distaste in his tone. He never calls her anything but 'that woman'.

"I can handle a twenty-five-year-old girl". I sound more confident than I feel.

"It could be an ambush. She could have brought her Resistance friends here." Never took us for people who wished to live forever, Makino.

"It will be fine."

He looks at me for long seconds, finally turns around and walks back to the car. If only he cared about his own life as much as he did about mine. If only I did.

The door opens before I can knock the second time. Yukino stands before me, much thinner than she looked at that bizarre reception, the cheekbones prominent, slight dark circles under her eyes. She is so beautiful that words freeze in my throat.

"Welcome, Colonel." She says coolly. "Please come in."

I follow her down a dusty hallway. There is a fashionable suitcase by the door. Was she planning to leave rather than meet me?

Yukino wears a long black coat with some expensive-looking fur. A slightly strange choice for dinner. I've learned from bitter experience that you can hide all manner of dangerous things under such coats. But the house is quite cold. People wear what they have to these days.

We've spent two happy summer weeks in this house, and the familiarity throws me off balance. It is only when we reach the dining room that I remember my manners. The two of us no longer have anything else to fall back to but empty pleasantries.

"Please accept this as a token of my appreciation for your hospitality," I say, bowing almost imperceptibly. It took me half a day to find a pre-war can of peaches. Her eyes widen a bit but the face remains expressionless.

"Thank you, Colonel. Please be seated."

I can recall this woman's face consumed by passion. And I still do, to my embarrassment, every night. To be treated with such icy, distant formality is… demeaning. To us both, and to what we had. Then again it wouldn't be my first time to imagine having something more than was actually real.

There is soup already served, and it is cold, and thin, but it is better than anything I have eaten in the last week.

"This is an excellent soup, Hayama-san." I watch her wince. Two can play this game.

"So, I hear you are doing a great job, Colonel. Chiba is a different city already since you arrived. Have you already shot anybody you know? Don't be distressed if not, I am sure it is just a matter of time." I look down as I try to push back the picture of Yui's body, blood slowly pooling around it. She doesn't know. She can't know.

"Not as good as the work you are doing, madam. I hear that thanks to you stories about all the bad things happening in our country find their way to foreign ears. Why, you might even get food shipments to Japan sanctioned. I am sure that it will be the junta generals and not the ordinary people that will go hungry." Yukino frowns at that, and her hands slip beneath the table. Is she gripping the hem of her skirt? What is she, seventeen?

"I fight you the only way I know how. You are just a bunch of criminals. You have killed thousands of foreigners, and now you've come home and are killing thousands of our own. We've let slip the dogs of war, and now they are tearing chunks of our own flesh and it is no more than we deserve. But I will fight you as long as I can and as long as you leave me alive. Which will not be much longer, I am sure." Yukino doesn't look that frail and tired any more. Her eyes are blazing with righteous anger. I know she means every word.

"I trusted you." She continues, more quietly. "More fool me. I never believed you could do such terrible things. They will shoot you all in the end, or hang you, like the common criminals you are. I hope they shoot you, too." The last sentence is barely audible.

"I hope they do." If I could only find such an angel of mercy. "But I fear we will both be disappointed."

"Eh?"

"That was the original plan. Take the country and hold it together for the next few bad years, seize every scrap of food and every yen, using any means necessary, make them last as long as needed. Get through the rough patch with everybody alive," _almost everybody_ "and then…" I allow myself a small smile.

"And then who cares. Somebody else takes the responsibility, and we get lined against the wall, the survivors get their closure and move on with their lives." It is never that simple. We were just deluding ourselves.

"But I've seen top secret reports. We are just holding our own. Barely. People still starve, far fewer than when _your_ families ran the country," I can't resist the dig ", but some starve. And the situation is not improving. There is no end of the rough patch in sight. Outside our borders things are even worse, nobody has enough and everybody is eyeing each other greedily. Sooner or later somebody will make a move and what is left of the international trade will fall apart completely." I sigh.

"And we import almost everything we need. Even today." I look up and see her staring back furiously.

"You are lying. You are lying like all your uniformed, goose-stepping ilk! Things are improving, you are just lying to stay in power. To avoid the just punishment." Her hands wander under the table again.

A just punishment? Is there a punishment worse than this reality? "No, things are not improving. It might look that way since we seized your villas and limos and your billions in banks and now use your family silver to feed people. But every year there is less to share." I shrug.

"So we hold on as long as we can. We arrest and we execute until everybody is too terrified to resist. We take every grain of rice, and we redistribute, leaving everybody hungry but nobody… almost nobody starving."

"It will all fall apart in our hands soon enough." I don't tell her that only the sense of duty is preventing the entire General Staff from committing a collective seppuku. And the fact that there is nobody to take their place.

My spoon falls to the floor, and I bend quickly to retrieve it. As expected, there is a gun taped to the underside of the table on Yukino's end. It points in my general direction, and the whole thing is so amateurish that I can barely keep my face straight.

"You are going to kill me." Her face is as calm, as flawless as I remember it from those long hours in the club.

"Wh-what?"

"You wouldn't be telling me all those things if you planned to let me live. First I thought you were coming to arrest me. To laugh at me for all I've done to you before having me taken away. Before having me d-disappear. And I thought it was only fair. Only just. I packed my things."

That pathetic fashionable suitcase by the door.

"I've dressed warmly."

For a prison camp? You planned to wear _a fur coat_ to a prison camp?!

"But you actually want to kill me, don't you? Not let your attack dog standing outside bury me in some unmarked grave. You want to do it with your own hands. For what I did to you. For what I did to myself. For ruining our lives."

I stare in fascination as tears slide down her perfect face and drop, to make little circles in her soup. Yukino's hands are out of sight.

We sit here, her gun under the table, mine at my hip, and the irony and the tragedy of it all makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. We have come a long way since those sunny school afternoons sitting at the ends of another table, reading in companionable silence. They say that life is all about journeys and not destinations but, considering where we have arrived, we shouldn't have bothered.


	4. Chapter 4

We sit there looking at each other, and I should really say something, but words are stuck in my throat. The situation is about to explode into good, old, familiar violence and it almost feels like a relief. Yukino needs just a small push, and all this, and I mean _all of this_ might just end here and now, all my nights of revisiting memories full of razor-sharp edges until my mind bleeds. All the days spent with people who say little and feel less. The pure desire for release grips me with such force that even in this cold room I can feel sweat breaking out in tiny droplets on the back of my neck.

And there is poetic justice in the girl who began my story ending it, too. Or, at least, there is some kind of justice. If I mention what happened to Yui, what I did, surely it will be enough to push her over the edge…

This is just selfish fantasy. If Yukino shoots she will likely miss from that distance. Even if she didn't my personal guardian angel would be here within a minute, and I suspect mercy would not be his top priority. What my men would do to this city when they heard what had happened is another topic that doesn't bear thinking about.

So I look away from her empty gaze. The words come slowly, like honey dripping from my lips.

"No. The thought never crossed my mind." It's nothing but the truth. There are ideas that the mind recoils from, like from a raw nerve.

"I just wanted to visit as a... just wanted to see you and talk some things through." I couldn't sound any lamer if I tried.

"Oh." Some profound change is taking place on that face, and it is like watching ice crack and dark and deep water show through. Then it freezes over again, but the shield is nowhere near as flawless as before, and a current of raw emotion touches the surface. "Oh."

She stands up quickly, eyes still full of tears. "Please, excuse me". The words are formal, but Yukino leaves the room almost at a run. It is slightly depressing, but not really surprising, that these days girls I have dinner with fear more for their lives than for their chastity.

I walk around the room, looking at half-remembered souvenirs and photos. I wish nothing has changed. I wish everything has changed. But, as always, I get something in between, the worst of both worlds.

I sit in her chair and check the gun out. It is an old Japanese Nambu pistol, probably more dangerous to the owner than to the target. Yukino herself in a nutshell. I leave it in place. She has few enough options as it is.

Footsteps wake me up from my window reverie, and I turn away from the dark sky where city lights used to be. Yukino has changed into a fashionable evening dress that looks completely out of place in this dusty room full of memories. The world has changed since that shiny company reception, and she has changed, too. Her arms have grown too thin, her face too sharply outlined for the glittering gown, a trembling smile starting and fading away, like a car engine on a cold morning. There is hope there, if I still can recognise it, and it is so out of place and out of date that my eyes sting.

"So, Hachiman, you are not here to kill me." Not your traditional dinner conversation.

"No, Ha… Yukinoshita."

"Please, Hachiman, _please_ let us stop playing these games. We have lost enough time. We see each other so rarely that there is a good chance that one of us won't live until the next time. Let us at least try to be honest with each other tonight." There is an intensity to her that will not be denied and, as always, I yield to it.

"Fine, Yukino. Fine. Let us speak honestly, for once." Her ghost of a smile fades completely. "I need your help. And you need mine. We have arrested and executed most of the smugglers, criminals and resistance members." Good times for undertakers.

"The city is as peaceful as I can make it. But I have to move on. There are other places in need of… pacification. I was going to ask you to take over as the civilian governor of Chiba. We have a few dozen resistance sympathisers in prisons, you can start your rule by releasing them. I've also brought in and stockpiled some food so you can distribute it to citizens. You being a Chiba native they are bound to love you. It will be a piece of cake." I smile enthusiastically. You've missed your calling, Hachiman. Should have been a politician or a used car salesman. Back when there were politics and used cars.

"All these years and you haven't changed a bit," Yukino says bitterly. "I still hate your methods. Doing terrible things to make others look good. The most hated man in the school grew up to become the most hated man in the city. What next? Become the most hated man in the country?"

"We can't all be good guys in this play. I do what is necessary." But I can't look her in the eye. I keep forgetting how well she knows me.

"What happens if I refuse?"

"I can keep you out of prison," _keep you alive,_ "even if you continue doing what you have been doing so far." Kanji wouldn't be happy, but he owes me.

"But… sooner or later, in a week, a month, half a year, one of those resistance riajuus will come close enough to me before blowing themselves up," I smile wryly, "and what I think and want will have become irrelevant. After that, unsurprisingly, I can't make promises." But I wouldn't be saving for retirement in your place.

She glares at me in exasperation laced with more than a bit of some more primal emotion. "You shouldn't joke about that stuff." Of course, it is only a joke.

But there are more important things than life and death to be discussed. I can feel it coming.

"Are you… have you found something genuine?"

"Yes." I look everywhere but at Yukino. In the periphery of my vision, I can still see her elegant hands lying on the table, clenching, relaxing, clenching again. It is like watching a heart beat to an irregular rhythm. It slows down until just two tight fists remain, white with the effort.

I can't leave it at this. I never could do what is best for her. "I have found genuine," that stupid word that has haunted us all for far too long.

"I had it for five years. Don't think I am complaining. I am not. It is longer than most people manage. Why, most people never find it at all. Five years is… plenty." It didn't feel that way. It felt like a moment.

"Though it ended… the way it ended." As all such years do, in heartbreak and sorrow and regret. With some blood and death added for good measure in our special case. "Those five years cannot be taken away. And I thank you for giving them to me." I bow slightly.

Yukino's hands are now relaxed, and I dare raise eyes to her face. She is calm and composed, but white as a sheet. "Do you think you can find it again?" Don't look at me that way. I can't save myself, let alone somebody else.

"No." I know this. I feel this. My every day is a proof of this. Even before her marriage and all the deaths that now stand between us I was… changed. Sometimes I think I never really returned from those faraway lands where so many of my friends rot in their early graves.

Her face crumbles. I always thought the expression was just a literary gimmick but her face just falls to pieces. Muscles go slack, eyes go empty, and any expression is erased completely. I've seen corpses showing more emotion.

"So." I watch Yukino's throat convulse as she swallows. "I started this evening thinking that you came to kill me, so I guess I am still ahead." Yukino's smile is so empty that I shudder. "Still, wanting to kill me would have implied some emotion on your part. All things considered, I think I much prefer that."

I don't have to ask. She won't agree to take over as the governor. Which means she faces a short life and a brutal death. Unacceptable. Appealing to the greater good and the duty to citizens won't work, not when you have nothing left to hold on to. Which leaves me with very few options. 'Very few' meaning precisely one.

Forgive me, Yukino. I never lied to you in all our long years.

"But." And her eyes flick to my mouth and stay there, unblinking. "If I can't have a genuine thing perhaps I might have… something. For whatever time is left, until some roadside bomb or a sniper bullet or the end of the world, I still might want something to rely on. Some place to come back to and forget about the outside world. Someone to share those months with." And even I can't say which part is the truth, which wishful thinking and which just lies.

"I-I see." The way she looks at me is intensely embarrassing. There is nothing sexual in it, just a steady, thirsty gaze of somebody trying to remember how water used to taste. It is easy to recognise the expression. I see it in the mirror every morning.

"You killed my husband," she whispers.

"Yes." What else is there to say? No, I just didn't save him when I could have? I see no difference.

"And you left my mother to starve," I counter. "But what is a spouse or a parent among friends?" My laugh is more like a bark.

"Soldiers came for us late that night," Yukino looks through the window. "We were quarrelling again. Like we did every night since that reception. Hayato never forgave me for forcing him to attend. I noticed your name on the invitation list and threw it away before he could see it. It was ill-advised but… sometimes you have no choice at all." She looks back at me, and I see in her eyes a calm and acceptance of fate that I could never match. "Soldiers in black uniforms blew up our front gate and shot everybody who tried to resist. They put a bag on Hayato's head, and I never saw him again."

"The officer kept repeating 'watch out for the woman'. They never touched me. I knew it was you." She is not asking for confirmation. None is needed.

"Is there hope, Hachiman?"

 _No._

"There is always hope, Yukino." I dream of dandelion seeds in the wind every night.

"We just need to find somebody worth sharing that hope with." The lie is ash on my tongue. I try to recall the way I used to smile at her, across this very table, years ago. I must be doing it right because I see a slow, dazzling smile spread across her face like a ripple on a pond, lighting up her eyes the last. God, I've never seen anything so beautiful.

"I will serve as the governor, Hachiman. I will do what I can for the city. But I can't do it without you. Together we will live through all this. If you will have me." Her gaze is steady and clear.

I only nod, my throat tight with shame. But some things must be done, no matter how much they hurt others. And us.

Because, dandelion.

* * *

Two months ago we had a session of the Imperial General Staff. There was a thin folder waiting for each of us. No security marking, no author, nothing. Just the title. _Operation Dandelion_.

It started off innocent enough. Things we already knew. Food shortages, fuel shortages, civil disorder, loss of control, collapse of government authority in cities. Two to three years.

But the last page was different. In order to save at least the rural population and food production from millions of refugees escaping from cities, Operation Dandelion proposed synchronised nuclear strikes on major Home Islands population centres. Destroying our own cities to save at least the countryside. Chiba was on the list.

There was no discussion. Just a unanimous vote of rejection. There are things even war criminals won't do.

But the unthinkable has been thought of. The unspeakable has been spoken.

When the situation becomes desperate enough there will be somebody willing to do what needs to be done. What must be done. Nobody knows that better than me.

I have been dreaming of dandelion seeds blown away by gusts of wind since.

* * *

"Would you care for a walk, Yukino?". I put my coat over her shoulders. She raises her blushing, smiling, gaunt face to mine. I look away, my mind stuttering, unable to cope with all the hope and… other emotions that show so clearly in her eyes.

But I have to try. No, I have to make it work. I will go and speak to that European ambassador who likes her so much. Surely his interest in this dashing raven-haired beauty who courageously fights a military junta all on her own can't be purely professional. We will understand each other, I think. A passport for her and a way out when everything starts falling apart. When dandelion seeds start floating.

I will have to talk to Kanji to have a team ready to snatch her and deliver to the embassy even if I am not… available. There might be a few good years left in Europe still, if she is lucky.

We walk out and down the gravel path. Crunching footsteps fall in behind us, and I relax a bit. Makino's presence is reassuring. Nothing has changed.

"The falcon cannot hear the falconer;" I whisper

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world."

"The blood-dimmed tide is loosed," Yukino adds, smiling still. "I didn't know you liked Yeats."

She sneaks her hand into mine. It feels like ice.


End file.
